Have Red Hands
by Poisonous Picasso
Summary: How to Use It: The Human who uses the Death Note  will feel the blood on their hands at midnight for twenty-seven minutes. Coauthored with Dlvvanzor. Dark. Light POV, LxLight AU
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: We do not own Death Note or any of the songs in this fic.**

**A/N: Hello! This fic is coauthored with Dlvvanzor. The way it works is this: The rule and ending were her ideas. I guess I write dark images better than she could ever hope to. An idea like this needed dark images that I guess she would never be able to supply, but that I can whip off in my sleep (if either of us ever slept XD). Thus, a partnership. I write the chapter, send it to her, and she beefs it up, adding details and length, and we end up with what is (we hope) a good fic!**

**This is going to be really, really dark. Take this statement seriously. As most of you know, I write serious macabre. You have been warned- it's under 'horror' for a reason. It's LxLight, but it's not going to be anything like what you've seen from just Dlvvanzor on her own.**

**Have fun, loves**

**ON WITH THE FIC!**

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**Death Note: How to Use it**

**The Human who uses the Death Note will feel the blood on their hands at midnight for twenty-seven minutes. During this time, they may not relinquish ownership of the Note.**

* * *

**Light POV**

I stared at my hands in horror. I could feel it; it was sticky, dripping through the spaces between my fingers, coagulating grotesquely beneath my fingernails. I could even _smell _it, the metallic tang stinging at my nostrils and the back of my throat like needles. I gagged slightly on the scent, trying to keep down a dinner I had only picked at, in dread of this.

Frantically and, I knew, futilely, I scraped my hands against the fabric of my pants. Anything to get off the blood that would never really be gone. I felt like Lady Macbeth. Maybe she had had a Death Note.

I hated it. I hated what I had become, what I was forever going to be. But I couldn't stop, even with this torture every night. Something inside wouldn't let me. Even if it tore me apart, even if this guilt was agony, what I was doing was right. It was worth this price. I was God, and God didn't give up on his people. Justice would be served, no matter how much pain I had to go through to do it. No matter how many times I had to wake up in the middle of the night for twenty-seven minutes of Hell.

It was worth it. I couldn't let the innocence of this world be marred by the existence of evil. Those who chose the rocky path less traveled; those who would eventually reach the edge of a cliff and have no choice but to jump. The people who couldn't be saved- they had to die.

I squeezed my eyes shut as I felt the ghost liquid drip impossibly slowly down my forearms, pooling in the creases of my elbows. It was sickening, and my stomach churned in agreement. I should have read those damn rules more carefully. If I had known that this type of pain, torture, terror would...

That was a lie, one that I had been telling myself since I had picked up the little innocent-looking, black notebook. I still would have done it, and for no better reason than that I was bored. It had nothing to do with some ideal of 'Justice.' That was a retroactive justification. I am living (living? Was I really?) proof that boredom leads people to do extreme things. Half of the reason I am what I have become is because of it. The reason, the real reason I killed so many people wasn't because of justice... I'd merely been bored, and watching people die had been... fun.

And this is my punishment, of course.

In the end we're all the same. On the inside, every man, woman, and child is the same. We're all sadists. Monsters who enjoy other people's pain, simply because it isn't happening to us. Selfish, dirty, sinful, disgusting, sniveling creatures.

Then again, some people fear the harm they can do to other people; there are those that are so innocent that even deaths by natural causes make them cringe. It is those people- those people who are nothing like me- that I gave everything to protect. Everything. My mind. My soul. My sanity.

But I thought that wasn't my reason...?

...Have you ever lied so much that even you don't remember the truth?

I have, and I know someone else who has. Ryuuzaki. Widely known as L. The man that I would someday bring to an end, the man who was the cause of _all_ my problems.

I hated him almost as much as I hated myself every midnight. That "Ryuuzaki" (whose real name, by the way, he never cared to tell us). I hated literally everything about that man.

Especially, though, I despised his supernaturally calm eyes, his ice-cold logic. The fact that he could just shed his humanity and make impossible decisions without any apparent guilt or hesitation. I hated that he could be all that- the perfect detective, the mad genius, the untarnished ideal, tranquil as a forest- and still be on fire inside with a drive that was second only to Kira's.

A shudder slid down my spine and I closed my eyes. For whatever reason, thinking of him always seemed to ease the drowning sensation. _(Drowning in a pool of the blood of my victims.)_ It was twisted; the type of thing you'd expect from a horror novel, something that Stephen King would write. Something that even _my _sick, twisted mind couldn't understand or accept. I was only sure of one thing. One fact made crystal clear by the notebook that placed the idea in the center of my brain and of which I was absolutely certain: This was punishment. This was torture, intended to make me stop. It was designed so that I would fear the Death Note and its powers.

So that I would fear the incredible power itgave me.

My skin crawling, I let my mind travel back to Ryuuzaki. He was like some kind of antidote, the only thing that lessened the fear, the constriction in my chest, the churning in my stomach. I had no idea why. I honestly hated the man. With a passion that could best be described as 'fierce' or 'fiery.'

All that aside, though, he did cause the pain to go away, and if thinking about him made me _not_ have to quiver like a heroin addict in withdrawal, then, damn it, I'd think about him. I hugged my knees tighter to my chest, curling up on my side, my teeth digging deeply into my lower lip in an effort to defeat the tears that threatened to escape. My fingers tangled in my hair and gripped my head, which was threatening to split right down the center, in an only vaguely thought-out attempt to hold my skull together.

Trying not to whimper, I pushed my body back against the grimy, spider-infested corner, my breathing raspy and uneven, my thoughts scattered. I curled up tighter until I could barely breathe.

I knew that eventually, if I kept this up (which I would), insanity would catch me in its icy vice grip, wrapping around me, sinking long teeth into me, lovingly sucking away any sanity thought I had left.

For God, I was pretty damned crazy.

I glanced at the clock; twenty-six minutes after midnight. Twenty-six agonizingly slow moments had dragged themselves by, and I only had to make it through one more for the night. I was going to survive tonight, tomorrow night, the night after that. I knew I would, this was all just an illusion. A figment conjured up by shinigami or God or the opposite, meant to guilt you, meant to make you feel the same way each of your victims had just as they became your victims. But every night, after twenty-seven minutes, it set you free again. If it was possible, that was the most terrifying thing. Knowing that the next night I'd be dragged through it again, and the night after that, and the night after that, and after that, and after that, and...

Would it stop when I died?

After I went to Nothingness, Mu, after my existence was wiped away, would this still happen? If Ryuk was wrong and my spirit still lurked in the corners of the Earth, would I still be dragged into this broom closet, a tiny, weeping ball behind the ironing board and next to the mop, familiar as old friends? Would it ever stop? Would I ever be free of the Death Note? Of its brutal symptoms?

So many questions flew through my head, colliding with each other and forming incoherent thoughts that I couldn't decipher. I looked again towards the old clock in the broom closet.

Five...

Four...

Three...

Two...

...One...

My shoulders were the first to relax when, just as quickly as it had started, it stopped. No longer was I drowning in hot, sticky liquid. No longer was I striving to breathe without smelling the scent of the life that I had stolen from the people I had murdered. As usual, I could still faintly feel it- no longer powerful, but always there. I could feel it twisting slowly down my cheeks from the neatly-trimmed ends of my auburn hair, dripping off the tips of my fingernails. I began to chew each of my fingernails off, tearing them until real blood- _my _blood- leaked out of them. There. No longer could the blood of dead men creep underneath them.

There wasn't much more I could do, though. I most certainly could not peel my skin off layer by layer, (it would be so easy, in theory... stratum corneum, then stratum lucidum, then granulosum, spinosum, basale...) as tempting as it sounded. No matter how badly I wanted this pain to end (and I did. I so badly did), there was no way I could do anything thatharmful, because when it was all said and done I was God. I was still needed. God did not submit to the devil. He didn't let anyone know how much pain He was going through. He didn't allow His mind to be altered by fear: He did what He knew was right and not what a little black notebook told Him. It didn't even matter that what I was doing was illegal. Because God doesn't abide by laws.

In fact, God was above the law. God _was_ the law.

God didn't have to put up with some creepy, freaky-genius detective, so why did I? Why did I let him live, when I could easily have let Rem kill him? Why did I care so much that he was alive? He was the competition, both of us racing against one another, racing for the same prize: 'Justice.' A justice that neither of us truly believed in and pursued only because we were both bored. Justice, after all, was just an illusion that humans made up to feel better about themselves. It was invented to do nothing more than give a sense of safety to whomever 'justice' considered innocent.

In the end, the world itself was nothing but an illusion.

In the end, the only thing that was real was the pain.

I laughed once- an insane bark of sound- because, in the end, what I was really fighting was reality. Because of my boredom, I had decided to be God. Then I had decided that I wanted my people to feel no pain, that I wanted to carry _their_ pain on _my_ shoulders. To do so, they would have to succumb to surrealism, let go of independent thought, give in to a will that was not their own. Let a haze settle over their minds, blocking out what was real in this life _(all that was real was pain, pain)_.

I wanted to cause them _more_ pain.

I considered this thought for a moment. Yes, it was true. I wanted them to be in more agony than they already were. I was just as sadistic as the next person; I wanted to let them believe that the world was _safe_. Ha. I wanted them to _trust_ me, trust me so much that they'd be my slaves. Alone, I could bring this entire planet to its knees before me.

I, Light Yagami, have done horrible things. I have killed my friends, family, and followers. I killed them for personal enjoyment; I killed them because it was right. They were criminals, out to make this world an unhappy, intensely painful place _(but was I any different?)_. I killed only evil people, and those who opposed me, who were evil themselves for wanting to let evil continue to exist.

Ryuuzaki, for instance. He was completely against me, fighting me with every fiber of his considerable ability. It showed quite simply that he was just as evil as every other member of the opposition who I have killed, if not _more_ so. So I didn't understand why I hadn't killed him when the opportunity arose.

There was something about him. I hated to admit it and never would out loud, but I couldn't imagine a world without the man I loathed so thoroughly. As much as I abhorred the socially awkward detective, I... enjoyed his company. I spent a lot of time wanting it, seeking it out. I would go out of my way to piss him off (try to) just because it meant being around him and making it not hurt, for a while. He was methadone- a substitute for a drug that, in the end, was more addictive than the drug itself. Three times as dangerous, making me revel in his comfort _(in his touch )_, to satiate the hunger that clawed through my veins, slipping poison into my bloodstream.

So you'd just end up addicted to both.

He hurt me almost as much as I _wanted_ to hurt _him._ And he spent quite a lot of time making it painfully, agonizingly clear that there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I couldn't crush him, but nor could I bring to him the same warmth he brought _me_. He was hidden perfectly and completely behind a cold-as-ice mask, emotionless, distant, untouchable. It was increasingly apparent that no one could break the mask, because he wouldn't allow it.

He'd kill them first.

Which leads me conveniently back to the whole "evil" thing. Obviously, Ryuuzaki was evil. He'd kill to protect himself from being known. Without a second thought, he'd kill to avoid telling people why fire burned so fiercely in his eyes. He'd murder for personal reasons.

No, that didn't sound familiar, and no, Ryuuzaki and I _definitely _weren't similar.

Unfortunately, he was as alluring as he was repulsive. Despite my best efforts, I _wanted_ to know him, to know what was going through his head when he tilted it, thumb to his mouth, observing me with those damn endless _eyes_ of his. I wanted to know what he thought of life, the afterlife, how he viewed the world in which we resided.

Even more, I wanted him to trust me. I let out another insane laugh as I unbuttoned my crisp white shirt _(no bloodstains)_. Trust was another one of those illusions. Real trust was rare- it existed, yes, but it wasn't common enough for me to need to worry about. People trusted God, which, as God, was good for me. People _didn't_ trust "L," which was _also _good for me. To them, L was only a garbled voice and a black letter on a white screen. Nobody trusted the twelfth letter of the English alphabet. He wasn't real; he didn't _exist_ like Kira did- Kira, whose presence you could feel just walking down the least to some people, I had a face, a basic outline. At least they knew that I was- or _had_ been- human.

And really, they weren't very far-off in their assumptions.

L wasn't human, and I was no longer one. There was a secret side of me, one I'd never let them see. Inside of me, deep claw marks scarred my heart, hairline fractures where the monster threw itself against my ribcage in an increasingly desperate attempt to escape. It wanted out. I wanted to _let_ it out. Madness.

The monster was insanity, I knew that. I also knew that I wasn't capable of holding it inside for much longer. Sooner or later it _would_ get out, shattering me into little tiny pieces, irreparable. It would twist me in gruesome ways, contort my mind beyond my own recognition, or that of anyone who knew me. I would no longer be capable of controlling my own mind. A scary thought, when your mind is the best thing you have. Especially knowing exactly what I was capable of.

I'd destroy Ryuuzaki.

I'd destroy the damn _world_.

And I wouldn't even regret it.

Not that I regretted it _now_. I mean, yeah, I _felt _it; I felt what I was doing every night _(blood, blood, death, heartbeat, silence) _for twenty-seven minutes. But I also loved my victims, in a warped way they meant more to me than my family _(and how much has my family ever meant to me?)_. With each careful stroke of their names I loved them more; in the last second of forty I admitted it to them. I whispered their name, affectionately, feeling it roll off my tongue, coated with the respect I held for them.

It was all so agonizingly _beautiful._

But, when _(not if) _the monster broke out, it would take away that love that I wanted. The sickness that should have me locked in an asylum. The monster would have me writing innocent names in the Devil's Notebook, the Notebook that God had discovered. That God had turned into something beautiful, and used to make this world livable.

I was the cause of this, I was the reason that crime rate had gone down by a full five percent.

But that wasn't nearly enough. A measly five percent each year. _That's_ what would keep me working, _that's_ what would probably give me carpal tunnel, _that_ was the reason I'd go insane. For five fucking percent! And the worst part?

I was so damn proud.

I was so, so proud that I had lowered it. I was incredibly proud that Ryuuzaki feared for his life. I was proud to the bursting point that I had given him some sort of emotion, even if it was only fear. He would never admit it, of course, he was _L, _but it was obvious. Every time he read new information ("Kira is attacking police forces, killing anyone who opposes Him.") it was in his eyes. His teeth would bite momentarily, almost unnoticeably harder into his thumb and he'd do that thing with his toes, which annoyed me to no end. He didn't tell anyone, though, and no one but me had ever noticed it. I doubted even _Watari_ knew just how afraid L was of Kira. Or at least how much he hated Him. L was, after all, quite a good actor.

Almost as good as me.

Or was it bad? Because it was terrible, the things we hid. He and I, we pretended every day that we weren't monsters. There was so much about me- and about him, I knew- that we would never tell. Everyone has things like this, things they wouldn't even tell the people they "trusted," who meant more to them than anyone in the world ever could. They wouldn't even tell people they _loved._

Ah, another illusion. Only _this_ illusion proved to be more lethal, twisted, dangerous, and horrific than the rest. People did unpredictable, stupid things for the sake of love, or for the sake of a specific _person _they love. This particular illusion was pain, candy-coated, and wrapped in something better with a pretty red bow. Something that couldn't exist in a world this demented. Still, people fell for it, because they wanted it. Humans have always and will always be fools that wanted so badly to be happy. They will always strive for the impossible; always want to reach an emotion that can never be attained. It was beautiful, in a way, that Man still _tries_ when it is so ineffectual. Man always _will_ try, even if someone showed them irrefutable proof that love exists only in fiction.

Love was invented- a charming idea, but invented- as was the nonsense called a 'soul mate' who was your complete opposite, but who you accepted and even wanted. Someone who was beautiful to you. Someone you couldn't live without.

Someone who had more quirks than perfections.

Someone who was just so damn weird.

...Someone who made the pain go away...

Whoa, no. I had to stop this train of thought; it was making me fall into those delusions. I didn't love raccoons, who wanted to love a raccoon? _I_ certainly didn't. Ryuuzaki was definitely a raccoon. Just _look_ at him. He was either a raccoon or a panda. I could see him rooting through people's garbage before sitting lazily and munching on bamboo with his wide, unblinking eyes.

A adorable, tousled, quiet, brilliant, inexplicable...

No! No, no, no! He was ugly, gross, greasy-haired, etc! Not that I've ever touched his hair. Nope.

...Okay! He was sleeping and I ran my fingers through it. Damn it, give me a _break_! It was in fact soft. And not greasy, much to my disenchantment.

Trying to shake those thoughts out of my splintered mind, I slid into my bed, still sweaty and shaking slightly. My fingers were in immense pain between clenching them and chewing my nails to the quick, but I didn't care. I _needed _to sleep. I hadn't slept in almost four days, and hallucinations were threatening. I was scared to try because I knew that if I succeeded I'd have nightmares. I'd wake up clutching the pillow and whimpering like a pathetic, wounded animal. This wasn't speculation; it had happened before. Since the night I wrote the first name in the Death Note, I'd been having nightmares. I wanted them to stop.

But I didn't want to stop to make that happen.

I wasn't going to stop.

No matter what.

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"In this farewell

There's no blood, there's no alibi,

'Cause I've drawn regret from the truth

Of a thousand lies.

So let Mercy come

And wash away

What I've done.

I've faced myself

To cross out what I've become

Erase myself

And let go of what I've done

Put to rest

What you thought of me

While I clean this slate

With the hands of uncertainty

For what I've done

I start again

And whatever pain may come

Today this ends

I'm forgiving what I've done

What I've done

Forgiving what I've done."

-What I've Done, Linkin Park


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: We do not own Death Note or any of the songs mentioned.**

**A/N: Still coauthored with and detailed mostly by Dlvvanzor.**

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_Next to silent, something dripped to the cool concrete floor, making a barely audible splatter. The tiny sound somehow echoed against the cement and I shot up, the previously warm blankets sliding down my chest and pooling at my waist. _

_What I saw made all traces of warmth fly from my body. A violent shudder ripped through me. Ryuuzaki. He was gazing up at something that was dripping to the floor, his lips parted in an unnecessarily sensual way, letting it drip into his mouth, letting it slide lovingly, alluringly down his tongue or drip out of the corners of his lips. His lips were stained ebony red, a small sliver of moonlight gleaming softly against them._

_It was disgusting._

_It was seductive._

_I wanted to kiss him, so badly. Even in my dreams he was captivating; I wanted to get up and move towards him, claim him as my prey. But I couldn't. I couldn't move, couldn't talk to him. I was frozen to my spot, because I had just realized what he was drinking, and I couldn't believe that it had taken me so long to make the connection._

_It was, of course, the blood of the men I had killed._

_Instinctively, I curled up around myself into a protective ball, pressing my hands to my face and peeking at him between the spaces of my fingers. He hadn't noticed me yet, or maybe he had and was just not acknowledging my presence. The latter was more likely. I could see a glint of metal in his tightly-clenched fist. He was holding something. Still, I was paralyzed, couldn't move, I couldn't twist my body or get out of my curl to see it. Whatever it was, the object was making me shudder in my bones. I took a deep, shaky breath in an attempt to fortify myself, gagging when I breathed in the scent of blood. As usual, it was overpowering, sickeningly sweet with a metallic tang that brought burning tears to my eyes, and dripping saliva to the back of my throat. For reasons I did not understand, I wanted it, wanted to taste it. I wiped futilely at my hands, already feeling the sticky liquid on them, staring in horror. This time, I could __**see **__the blood, dripping down from wide slits on my wrists. I could see the severed veins twisting under my skin, the clear white of a bone. Blood was flowing from an open gash on my abdominals, staining the sheets, dripping from the tips of my perfectly-tended mahogany hair. _

_How the hell was I __**living**__?_

_Oh, right. It was a dream, of course. Now that I thought about it, it was the same dream I'd been having ever night for what felt like forever, or at least since I had touched the Death Note. I felt a tear escape my eye and slide down my cheek as my head turned slowly to look into the shattered mirror I knew would be there. The tear was bloody, leaving a dark red track twisting down my cheek, moving silently down my chin, glimmering in the moonlight like a lethal ruby as it fell. I could see Ryuuzaki staring at me, watching me intently from the bottom of his bottomless eyes, his head still tilted upwards. Still letting that liquid drip into his mouth, not seeming to mind._

_I felt my eyes widen with fear, my breath hitching wetly in my throat, and more tears fell. I suppressed the whimper that was threatening to emerge from my bleeding throat. Ryuuzaki slunk forward like a black panther closing in on its prey, a grotesque, mischievous smile twisting his lips upwards. Was he going to kill me?_

_He climbed up onto the bed, crawling on all fours like the day we had fought in Misa's room across the bloodstained sheets, coming closer until our faces were barely inches apart, our breath mingling. The scent of his breath made me choke; he smelled like blood, it perfumed the air around him __**("then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer, swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor...") **__drizzled off his chin onto my lap, danced in the air surrounding me. I couldn't breathe and my body was stinging from all the slashes on my body as Ryuuzaki had poured lemon juice in my wounds._

_Behind him I could still hear the steady __**drop... drop... drop...**_ _of blood hitting the floor. I wanted to coil into myself and disappear, escape the pale man in front of me, be far away from the nauseating echo of silent sound that reverberated in the room. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to wake up. It was a stupid attempt. It had never worked before, and it didn't this time, and soon all I could hear was our breathing- his deep and steady, mine frantic and raspy and desperate._

_He leaned down, gently placing his thin lips against the slash across my throat, and sucked gently. This should hurt. This should be making my body buckle in fiery agony. It didn't. Instead it was like he sedated me as he leeched blood from my body, playing softly, almost lovingly, with my blood-matted hair. I sighed lightly, melting gently into him, my blood-covered, ripped-open fingers clenching his white shirt and leaving stains that would never come out, no matter how much cold water he used._

_Suddenly, he pulled away from me. I gasped a little at the loss and looked up at him. I couldn't have felt more exposed had I been naked. His face was expressionless, his mouth still full of myblood. He leaned forward, his eyes hidden by his raven fringe, his blood-smeared lips curving into a sadistic smile. He leaned closer, closer..._

_Our lips touched gently. He tasted sweet and metallic and I tried to pull away, but he followed pinning me against the headboard. He crushed his lips into mine and placed one hand gently on my chest. My skin burned at his touch with disgust and something else I'd rather not admit. He brought his other hand to my jaw and forced it open, deepening the kiss. Slowly, straddling and leaning over me, his body pure sinew, he began drizzling blood into my mouth. It coated my tongue, stuck to the insides of my cheeks, clung to my taste buds. I moaned, clinging to him, at the same time trying and failing to pull away. He used the hand that had opened my mouth to retrieve something._

_The knife had disappeared in that way that things can, in dreams, but now it was back._

_Our faces were centimeters apart, I caught every syllable- every damn_ _**letter**__- as it exited his mouth, his breath light against my face. His face was a mask of innocence as he whispered the words, his voice filling the blood-laden night air around us._

_"I'm going to kill you, Light-Kun. Before __**you**_ _can kill __**me**__." _

_Suddenly his smooth movements melted into spastic jerks and he threw his head back and laughed like a madman. "An eye for an eye, my friend." He reached forward and ran the steel edge of the knife lightly against his wrists, a thin line of dark blood blooming out of the almost-invisible graze. He brought it to his lips and licked it. Then he looked back at me, thoughtfully._

_"And then myself, of course," he continued as if that were the obvious next step. "We will die __together." He whispered the last part, and his voice sent simultaneous hot and cold chills down my spine. I wanted so badly to wrap my arms around him and hold him tight. Anything to stop him from killing me but, more, from killing __**himself**__. But I couldn't move, his words paralyzed me. "I have inserted two transmitter devices into each of us," he tapped the wounds on my wrists, which for some reason felt immediately better at his touch. "When your heart stops, so will mine. That has a certain justice to it, don't you agree?" He kept his voice low and warm as he put his thumbnail to his mouth. It was such a casual, familiar gesture that I instantly and unwillingly relaxed, until his head tilted and I saw him slowly peel off the fingernail, swallowing it whole and lapping languorously at the blood that dripped from his finger. _

_I shook my head. As much as I wanted it all to be over, I couldn't die. Not if it meant that __**he **__would die too. I opened my mouth to protest but was silenced by his lips on mine as he reached into his apparently endless pocket, withdrawing a spoon. Slowly, he inserted it into my ruined throat, holding it with two fingers in his odd way, and spooned out some of the blood. I shuddered as he blew on it like a mother cooling soup before giving it to her child._

_As was fitting for the metaphor, he presented the spoon to my lips. "Drink," he ordered in a low, scolding voice. I obediently opened my mouth, whimpering slightly. I couldn't fight him; he was too strong. I felt the liquid run hotly down my throat as I swallowed my own blood._

_His eyes were half-lidded, gleaming painfully seductively in the moonlight. He kissed me again, licking my lips gently. Automatically I opened them, letting his tongue run gently over mine. I squeezed my eyes closed, twisting his baggy shirt in my fingers._

_He pulled back until our lips were barely touching. Missing the strange warmth, I opened my eyes to see where he had gone. He was staring at me. Confused, I searched his eyes, looking for some sort of emotion in the impenetrable blankness. He dragged his bloody fingers across my sharp cheekbones, angular jaw, clutching my chin, gently nudging my mouth toward his again. Our lips met in a gentle, chaste kiss that really didn't feel very chaste. He breathed kisses from my forehead to my throat, running his tongue against the cut on my throat again. _

_He pulled away completely, rocking back onto his heels. He held the knife in his strange way, clutched between two fingers, lightly against my chest, tracing a heart (amused, I saw that it was an anatomically correct heart, not a stylized one) into my skin with superficial cuts. I sighed contentedly. He leaned down and licked the blood off of my chest, making me moan lightly. _

_"It will be over soon, Light-kun," he whispered soothingly against my chest, his warm breath sending a shiver through my body and goosebumps rising on my flesh. I could sense myself waking up. This is where it always ended- right before anything good or bad happened. Still, the dream was beautifully erotic. I whimpered, not wanting to get away from this for whatever reason, taking hold of both sides of his face, squeezing my eyes shut all over again..._

...Opening them to bright sunlight trickling through my light blue curtains.

My breathing was still heavy. Tears streamed silently down my pale face, my hands clenched tightly in my hair. I still felt terrified, but there was something else there, too, a sense of loss and dissatisfaction. A sense of pain. A sense of burning, seething desire. I tried to ignore the discomfort from my lower half. I groaned, covering my face with my damp pillow, seriously considering suffocating myself. It wouldn't work in _practice_ because I would just pass out and go limp, allowing me to breathe, but in _theory_ it wouldn't be hard. Just push the pillow tighter against my face, close my eyes...

...and then what?

I've read some place that a soul never leaves the world if it has unfinished business, or at least not until that business was completed. Would I be able to dance off into the light with no regrets? Or would I be stuck? Stuck here, with the blood of dead men burning beneath my contorted desires and nonexistent fingernails. Stuck here until the world became a better place? I threw my pillow at the wall. I sure hoped not. That would take millions of years without Kira. When I died, I wanted to be out of here at, like, the speed of light. No pun intended.

Ryuuzaki would have laughed though, or at least smiled. That sadistic, evil, mischievous, beautiful...

Oh, God, I'm losing it. I'm going crazy. Yep, it's official. Light is losing his mind. And it's a stupid raccoon's fault!

I grabbed my blankets, pulling them back over my face. A beautiful, hideous, uncomplicated, unfathomable, alluring, repulsive raccoon.

Damn, I was really beginning to hate raccoons.

So, was it bad that I was seriously starting to like Ryuuzaki more and more?

Sometimes you hate someone so much you begin to love them. It's true; I've read it in several textbooks and in the occasional romance novel (don't ask). But this? This was just too cliché, a twisted version of Romeo and Juliet, and these things never happen that way in _real life._ We _hated_ each other, despised each other to the very core of our beings. And yet, slowly, I was... maybe... starting to deviate from that ever-present, empty emotion. Slowly I was beginning to lo-

Woah.

What was I just about to say? Certainly not lo- Anyway, I mechanically got out of bed, wearily flinging the blankets from me, and walking to my bathroom. Getting ready took the usual half hour, then choosing my outfit so everything matched took another. And yes, you can shut the hell up, because it _is _important that my underwear match my shirt. As hard as I tried not to, I was still contemplating my earlier thoughts. Did I really lo- him? Could Kira love L? Could L even _feel _love? Could I? I snorted. Even less likely than _L_ being able to feel love.

I closed my eyes, pushing myself against the back of my closet (this is not a metaphor for me being 'in the closet,' okay?), breathing deeply the scent of clean linen and clean Light. It was all so familiar. I reached out, clutching the sleeve of one of my favorite shirts. It was my favorite smell, second only to Ryu- I mean... um... bread baking.

I was becoming so weak; captivated by distorted dreams and the burn of endless black eyes. I let a little, pathetic sound escape as I pulled my knees closer to me. An empty ache filled my chest and I hid my face against my knees.

I hated him.

I hated him so, so much.

I hated him so much that I'd fallen in love with him, trading one intense emotion for another so quickly that I hadn't even noticed it until now. I stood up, attempting to compose myself and step out of the closet (shut the fuck up!). A ray of sunlight through the window hit my auburn hair, causing it to shine brightly when I caught myself in the mirror. My hair was the only beautiful thing about me right now. My hands were shaking, thin and cramped and bony from writing so much. My eyes were glazed, their old mischievous light gone from them. I had bags under my eyes that almost rivaled Ryuuzaki's. My skin was pale, my cheeks hollowed out. I lifted my shirt and counted my ribs. My stomach pulled in so much that I could fit half a fist beneath my rib cage. My hair- though it was pretty- flopped into my eyes, as tired as the rest of my body. I looked incredibly sick.

Actually, I looked like a dead man.

Which, in theory, I was. My mind was slowly being strangled, and as it died it took me with it. Nightmares were killing me, lack of food and sleep were killing me. I doubted I would make it to Ryuuzaki's age at this rate. Hopefully by then, Kira would be looked upon as God, and I'd find some kind of heir, and L would be... dead. No longer living.

Suddenly I really wanted to see him.

I backed away from the mirror and pulled my shoes on, not even tying them. I forced my body into a run, out the door into the uninviting hallway, my footsteps echoing off the walls. Ryuuzaki, was he okay? Was he alive? Was he sane? Why wouldn't he be? Questions flew through my mind, eating at my chest and brain, driving me insane-er. More insane? Whatever.

I burst into the computer room, whipping my head around. It was empty except for one figure. One person hunched over a solitary blue light.

Ryuuzaki.

I looked at the clock. It was seven in the morning. Shouldn't the other Task Force members be here by now? I looked around, then back at Ryuuzaki. He'd swiveled around to face me, a fork hanging out of his mouth, white frosting on his lower lip and various other parts of his face.

That was more alluring than was really necessary.

"Light-Kun? What are you doing here?" he asked, tilting his head in that freakishly adorable way that I loved. I ran forward, grabbing his hand and running my fingers over the chewed up fingernails and surrounding cuticles. Of course he hadn't eaten them off, why _would_ he have? I dropped my head onto his shoulder, letting all my weight be on him. I fumbled his wrists into my view, checking for slashes that I half-expected to see when of course there were none. Then I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and burst into tears. I cried so much nowadays. It was like I had been reduced to the emotional depth of a teaspoon.

He let me be there for a moment, then, "...Light-Kun? Can you please remove your body from me?" He gently pushed me off him and stared at me blankly. Beneath the blank stare, his eyes sparkled with intelligence, interest, and something else that I couldn't quite place. I sniffled like the pathetic child I was, and took a deep, shuddering, breath, wiping my eyes on my jacket sleeve.

"Sorry. Really. I'm S-S-S-" I fell forward onto his shoulder, already sobbing again, the chair tipped back, almost dumping us to the ground. I didn't move even as his hand shot out to his desk to balance us, because I didn't want to stop breathing in his scent. He smelled like newspaper, clean linen, and cake. It was nice.

I really had to compose myself at some point, however.

He pushed me off of him again. He resumed watching the computer screen intently, his face a mask of confusion and interest.

I felt an insane chuckle about to take me over. Had to watch that. He was playing right into my hands; he was becoming part of my own destructive world. Falling for the 'Poor Little Light' act I had going on. Falling for an act.

Ignoring the fact that it was an act that was completely, one hundred percent true.

But I could use this. I could use this insanity, this _need _for him. I could use this as a plot. A plot that would bring L down.

Because I sure as hell wasn't going to go down alone.

I am Light Yagami, and he is Ryuuzaki.

Kira and L.

Evil and Good.

Neither can ever win, no matter what we do.

Which leaves one choice:

We go down together.

* * *

"In the dark with the music on  
Wishing I was somewhere else  
Taking all your anger out on me, somebody help.  
I would rather rot alone  
Then spend a minute with you.  
I'm gone, I'm gone  
And you can't stop me from falling apart  
'Cause my self-destruction is all your fault.

How could you, how could you,  
how could you hate me?  
When all I ever wanted to be was you?  
How could you, how could you, how could you love me?  
When all you ever gave me were open wounds?

Downstairs the enemy sleeps  
Leaving the TV on  
Watching all the dreams we had turn into static.  
Doesn't matter what I do  
Nothing's gonna change  
I'm never good enough  
And you can't stop me from falling apart'  
Cause my self-destruction is all your fault.

Tell me why you broke me down and  
betrayed my trust in you.

I'm not giving up,  
giving in when will this war end?  
When will it end?"

-Open Wounds, Skillet


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: We do not own Death Note.**

**I assure you that everything that happens in this chapter happens for a reason for later, soooo... enjoy!**

**Also! It's a little AU, since Light only just now gets the handcuffs, and how he has his memories when he shouldn't, etc. But vague AU is pretty common in the DN fandom, no? XD **

* * *

I managed to compose myself by the time the rest of the task force members arrived; tired, instantly chastised by L. I turned to face my "friends" with my usual calm mask on, but I felt exposed, as if they were all staring at me, their eyes boring holes into me. _Seeing_ me in ways that I really didn't want them to. I knew they couldn't. Knew that it was impossible, because my mask was impenetrable.

Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if _Ryuuzaki_ could, with those damn creepy eyes of his. I glanced at him, but for once in his existence he actually wasn't staring at me. He was looking at the ceiling as a drop of blood seeped through it, his eyes following it emotionlessly, thumb to bottom lip.

Noticing his (actually quite surprising) distraction, the rest of the Task Force turned to see what he was seeing. They watched as it went from a droplet to a drizzle, falling from the ceiling, beginning to form a little puddle on the ceramic floor. Ryuuzaki stared it, seemingly unaffected by how quickly it was coming through. There had to be _a lot _of blood for it to be falling at this rate. This wasn't a paper cut. Insect-like, he turned around and picked up his sugar-crusted coffee cup, placing it directly beneath the flow. He looked up, nodded, and then turned back to his computer.

For a moment, I thought he was going to just go about his work. I opened my mouth to ask what the fuck was wrong with him, to find him pressing the intercom button.

"Watari, could you please go check Miss Amane's room? There is a suspicious leakage seeming to originate from it. Also, she has not yet been down this morning to antagonize Light. If there's anything wrong, please notify us immediately. Thank you." With that, he actually _did _go back to work. The quiet, impossibly-rapid tapping of the keyboard resumed with full force.

The rest of us were at a loss for words.

How could someone be so _calm _when there was blood, presumably human, actually _leaking_ from the ceiling?

It took me a moment to realize that his endless black eyes were focused on me yet again, a mischievous, dangerous light shining in them.

"Does blood make you uncomfortable, Light-kun?"

Was I pale? Was I shaking? Damn it. He could read me too well. Came from spending all that time with him.

"If so, you may leave," he added as if it were an afterthought, which it wasn't.

He watched me, his eyes scouring me to see what I'd do, what I'd say. Would being afraid of blood make me less likely to be Kira? Probably not; L knew that Kira didn't have to actually _be_ there to kill his victims. But would _not_ being afraid of blood make me Kira? In Ryuuzaki's mind, probably. Half the time I was sure that even _he_ didn't know which answer would tip the percentage which way.

But no way was I leaving. "Nope," I lied. I was going to prove to L that I was _manly. _I could take this! I shook my head, clenching my teeth tightly to avoid vomiting on him. He shrugged, returning his attention to the computer monitor, turning the speakers on just in case Watari had to contact us.

Which he did.

"Ryuuzaki? It appears that Miss Misa Amane has been severed into multiple pieces. The victim is dead," he stated simply. I gagged at the all-too-familiar image of a human being in tatters across the floor, trying to hide behind my sleeve. Someone had... killed Misa? I _almost _laughed, I mean, you know, it _was _Misa. No one but Matsuda even looked upset (even Watari had sounded pretty okay with it). But still, she hadn't really done anything... much. Nothing that she _remembered_, anyway.

Besides, I was somehow sure that laughing at your girlfriend's death didn't exactly help lower your Kira percentage _(you don't mind that she's dead)_, even if The Great and All-Knowing L probably suspected that I wasn't overly fond of her.

"Yes. I'll be right in to investigate," the detective answered simply. Turning to me, he stood up. "Come along, Light-kun," he added as he began to slump out of the room. For a moment, I could only stare after him, eyes wide. He _knew _blood made me dizzy- he sure as hell hadn't asked just to make conversation. And I'd lied in response, which he knew perfectly well. And now he was mocking me. For a man in his twenties, he certainly acted like a thirteen-year-old _girl_ more often than he didn't. I sighed inwardly, a silent admission of defeat.

So, just to humor him, all for him, I followed. My legs felt like lead as we walked toward the elevator, a sense of impending doom washing over me. I was really going to kill this excuse for a man, just as soon as I could figure out his real name. Or just as soon as I could get my fingers around his neck. That would be it. Bye-bye L, rest in peace _(rest in pieces)_, good riddance.

The elevator door hummed closed, and the two of us were engulfed in a rather awkward silence, broken only by the occasional purr of the elevator's very quiet motor.

I repressed the almost-overwhelming urge to press every single button just so they all lit up the same and were all alike. I am _definitely_ not obsessive compulsive. Nope.

I do have a lot of willpower, however, because I did _not _push the buttons. I did twitch a little bit though. L turned his eyes to me curiously for a moment, but quickly returned them to the huge window that made up one wall of the elevator.

Standing in front of them, his eyes were reflected perfectly in the glass. I sensed a gush coming on, and I almost groaned aloud, which could have been seriously uncomfortable.

The sun made his black hair shine, and I had the urge to run my hands through it yet again, to feel the ebony strands tickle my palms, the creases of my fingers. I wanted to run the tips of my fingers slowly over his protruding cheekbones and angular jaw, over his lips as they formed that rare smirk. I almost gave in to that temptation but thankfully I thought better of it, burying my hands safely in my pockets and slouching back against the carpeted wall. I tilted my head down, letting my hair fall over my eyes, to have some privacy to contemplate what I was about to face.

Blood.

I was most likely going to be surrounded by blood. Unless, I thought, our killer was a housekeeper as well, which actually was not unlikely except for the drizzle from the ceiling. I was pretty sure (I knew for a _fact_) that Watari wasn't Misa's number one fan. Maybe he had killed her just for the shits and giggles that would inevitably arise. I doubted it, though. He was like L. "Innocent people deserve justice." L was most likely going to slosh through the red puddles like they were nothing, ignoring the fact that Misa probably had tons of STDs that he could catch from her blood, and immediately go to examine her body... which, according to Watari, was strewn around the room.

I cringed at the thought. Watari was probably back to his morning already.

The elevator opened with a slight _whoosh_and we stepped into Misa's room. It was eerily quiet, the silence weighing me down almost immediately. Misa was never, ever quiet. On the rare occasion that she wasn't talking, she was playing music. It wasn't long after that the scent hit me. That telltale smell _(the telltale heart)_ that I seemed to be running into way too often, lately. Instantly, I gagged, my head began to pound. Saliva dripped in the back of my throat, drowning my tongue.

Mindlessly trying to get away from the smell, I took a few steps, only succeeding in stumbling over something. I made the rookie mistake, after recovering my balance, of looking back to see what I had nearly tripped on.

Her head.

Blood and bodily fluids still discharged from the abruptly-ending neck, fully-decapitated. It took incredible amounts of momentum and/or strength to remove a head from its body. It wasn't something you could do on accident. Her blonde hair was fanned out around her, the ends stained so red they were black. One of her eyes was wide, the other hung from its socket, still attached by a thread. I could tell that it had been deliberately removed- it wouldn't have just _fallen out _with decapitation, not without a blunt force, of which her cranium showed no evidence. Her mouth was open, as if stopped on a syllable. I gagged for the millionth time that day, swallowing back a wave of nausea. I looked up, searching for L. He was standing in front of a wall, reading words graffitied in Misa's blood. The characters were hard to make out, but still legible.

_Her blood rests on you, just like everyone else's, Kira. _

_-M_

My heart momentarily stopped. I was sure I was going to die. It would be ironic to die of a heart attack, wouldn't it? And yet it would be strangely, resoundingly appropriate (_the telltale heart __**attack**_).

To my disappointment, I resumed breathing. L was emotionlessly examining the scene of the crime. He looked frighteningly calm. Well, he had probably started out doing things like this, right? He couldn't have just popped out as the internationally-respected L. At first, he must have gone to the scene himself, when he didn't have lackeys to do it for him.

He really did know what he was doing, and as he tilted his head, staring at the words (and, I could tell, memorizing every curve of every letter, to the point where he'd be able to perfectly reconstruct it later), it was quite frankly beautiful.

His pale skin just looked _so _good with blood.

The handwriting was spidery and cursive. Wanting to contribute, I said, "Judging by the handwriting, 'M' is probably female." I paused, then added, matter-of-factly, "Or a very gay male." Not that I should criticize, since I had just recently broken the habit of dotting my 'i's with hearts. The heart vibes had kind of contradicted the 'Death Note' vibes. Anyway, since the message was written in _blood_, it was silly to grade for neatness.

L gave a short laugh that I didn't understand, but said nothing.

I took a step forward. As I did, the sunlight caught something silver, making it shine brilliantly in the morning sunlight. I turned to locate the source of the glare, picking it up. It was a rosary, lightly bloodied, placed carefully next to Misa. It couldn't be Misa's; it wasn't nearly gaudy enough for that. It had several red beads strung along it in their appropriate groups of decades, coming together in the middle with a Gothic cross. I held it out to L.

"A clue?" The only words I could force out of my closing throat. He reached forward, plucking it out of my hand with two fingers, leaving a streak of blood on my palm. I was used to seeing blood on my hands. That was probably the one place that having such a small amount of blood _on_ me, wouldn't bother me.

Ryuuzaki, having apparently never heard of AIDS or any other blood-born disease, examined it, putting a bloody thumb to his mouth and absently chewing the tainted fingernail, staining his lower lip. It was just like my dream. Just as disgusting.

Just as beautiful.

And _so damn hot_.

I felt the warning chill that came in my dreams. The shudder ran up my back as I reread the note. Whoever wrote it was no idiot- he or she _knew _I was Kira. I was suddenly wildly paranoid that they _also_ knew about my twenty-seven minutes at midnight issue. It was possible, if _they_ had a Death Note.

I looked back at some random chunk of what used to be a beautiful young woman. Annoying as all hell, yes, but she wasn't a _total_ idiot, and she wasn't stuck up. Which, as a model, wasn't to be expected. She was pretty clever when it came to something she cared about.

Someone could've loved her someday.

And now she was nothing but hacked-up flesh with rose petals floated in puddles of her blood.

...Well, we definitely had a _creative _killer on our hands.

Suddenly, something snapped down on my left wrist, cold and metallic but rapidly warming to meet my body temperature. I looked over just as Ryuuzaki clasped the other cuff around his own wrist.

Binding us together in a way that was both kinky _and_ symbolic.

He watched me to see my reaction. He probably expected me to freak out, which I would have if I didn't like the idea of being handcuffed to him as much as I did.

In what _I_, at least, considered to be a very romantic fashion, our eyes met. He lowered his stance a little bit into the defensive. Apparently his theory had changed from me freaking out to me _hitting_ him.

It was absurd how much I thought about this man.

I took an involuntary step towards him.

Probably confused by how slowly I was approaching him, as opposed to just rushing up to him and punching his nose in, he stepped back. He flinched when he realized belatedly that he had backed himself into the wall.

For whatever reason, I found I couldn't stop myself. I leaned forward until our foreheads were touching, until our breaths _(does your breath smell like blood, too?)_ were mingling, and his eyes grew wider, if such a thing were possible.

I didn't know what I was doing, but I did know what I _wanted_. Slowly, slowly, I leaned in to fulfill that desire, bringing my lips close to his until the very tips of my nerves could almost sense his.

He shoved me off of him with surprising strength, his eyes warning but otherwise unreadable. "Oh please," he said harshly. He pushed me back further, more gently this time but by no means kindly, and stepped around me, tramping through the blood, leaving footprints and permanently staining the too-long cuffs of his jeans. Handcuffed, this meant that I had to get creative and take _very_ big steps to avoid the same fate as he all but literally dragged me out of the room.

Again the feeling of aching emptiness took over, but it was mildly better than pain.

That wasn't _exactly_ rejection, right? It was more, "Get the fuck out of my personal space you crazy, insane freak of nature," without all the words, right?

I'm so egotistical that sometimes I make myself sick. Why can't I just admit it? I just had a damn bucket of freezing cold rejection-water dumped over my head and was now choking on the water that had gone in my throat and frozen there.

Rejection, especially for someone who has never, ever been rejected, is just _tons_ of fun.

"Do you know who it could be?" I asked later as we sat quietly in our (shared) room. I tried not to look at his side. I mean seriously. It had only been like two hours since we'd gotten here and already his side was a disaster. But I turned my head to glance at him, stretched out on his stomach, his white shirt (a different one, he had about nineteen of them) riding up and exposing some of his lean waist. His black hair was even messier than usual from running his fingers through it in exasperation and from pulling various shirts over his head without brushing it. Ever.

"I have several suspects. But our main focus should be someone who is fond of Gothic fashions, and is also Catholic."

He was still sharp as a pin and it was... I checked my watch and nearly choked.

11:58 PM

_Damn_ it.

Almost midnight. Attached to L. What the hell was I supposed to do when the subtle sound of dripping blood entered my ears, the sweetly metallic scent, the sensation of drowning...

Would Misa's blood haunt me too, even though I hadn't technically killed her?

The clock struck midnight. I looked up casually, trying not to let it bother me. If I ignored it, it might possibly go away...That was funny. I had tried the 'don't think about it' hypothesis before with absolutely no luck. It was impossible to ignore some of the things the Death Note could come up with to torture you, and I had suspicions that if you tried to avoid it, it got worse. Maybe.

But maybe I could deal with it.

"Light!" a voice said. I looked at L. It hadn't been _his_ voice, but since he was the only one in the room, it was my first reaction.

No, the voice had been much perkier, high-pitched...

Feminine.

_Annoying_.

Misa's_. _

Turning my head slowly, I felt a chill run down and between the strands that made up my spine. Misa stood next to the bed, a huge smile-

-on her mashed up, unrecognizable face. Her face had been mostly ripped off, as with claws. Blood ran down her tattered body. The only thing recognizable about her was her eyes, in-tact unlike her real eyes on her real, non-hallucination body, startlingly blue amidst the blood. Her lips were truly blood red, the color she had always aimed for with her makeup but had never _quite _been able to match, and she was smiling hugely, dementedly, as if incredibly pleased with this accomplishment. Her hair was stringy, bloody, drumming against her ripped-up spine from the scalp that was only partially there.

I covered my eyes, peeking at her like a child from between my fingers.

L, of course, paid no attention to my little fit. He didn't care if I had schizophrenic tendencies; he was too focused on finding two mass-murderers. The first of whom was curled up, being schizo right next to him, and the second one who was murdered and standing before the first one.

She let out a little giggle and began to walk- no, she _stumbled_- toward me, crawling up onto the bed, bringing her terrible, pulverized face closer, closer _(maybe this is how L felt when you tried to kiss him) _...

I couldn't scream as she pushed her blood-stained lips to mine. Why did all my nightmares seem to want to _kiss_ me, dammit?

The all-too familiar feeling of sticky blood enveloped me, up to my chest, and twenty-seven minutes of something beyond Hell started all over again.

All I could hear was that damn Shinigami's smoker laugh.

* * *

"Alone at last, we can sit and fight.  
And I've lost all faith in this blurring light,  
But stay right here we can change our plight.  
We're storming through this despite what's right.

One final fight, for this tonight.  
Woah...  
With knives and pens we made our plight.

Lay your heart down the ends in sight.  
Conscience begs for you to do what's right.  
Everyday it's still the same dull knife,  
Stab it through and justify your pride.

One final fight, for this tonight.  
Woah...  
With knives and pens we made our plight.  
Woah...  
And I can't go on without your love, you lost, you never held on.  
We tried out best... Turn out the light,  
Turn out the light."

-Knives and Pens, Black Veil Brides


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: We do not own Death Note.**

* * *

It was happening again. It was the same dream, only it wasn't. Because this time, the man in my dream wasn't Ryuuzaki. It was like his clone, his walking double. He looked just like L, but he wasn't. He couldn't be. This man didn't have L's air of calm. He was insane. There wasn't a doubt in my mind about it. Stark-fucking-raving mad. Maybe even as crazy as me, if such a thing were possible.

Even if it wasn't him, so far, this counterpart was following the right format. As usual, the head of the subject of my dream was tilted upward, drinking gracefully, letting the liquid slide out of his mouth and slowly over the pale skin of his chin. He was watching me. I could feel his eyes boring into my skull in silent speculation of my existence. It wasn't like when L did it. Those weren't L's eyes.

I watched as the man's head lowered, slowly, into its place. He smiled at me, contorted as would be expected from such a dream. His eyes were still shielded by his mop of black hair and it was nearly impossible to read the intent hidden behind the malicious curvature of his lips. He raised the knife to his mouth, darting his tongue out to run it slowly over the gleaming blade, leaving behind a line of ruby.  
Lust made its first scarlet appearance, just a shadow behind the terror. That was pretty damn hot.

He flipped his hair from his face and I gasped, shocked. His eyes were red as the blood he drank so enthusiastically, glinting with madness and rage. He took a moment to absorb my shock, then grabbed his hair and pulled his head back by it, screaming like a demon at the heavens. The noise made my blood run cold.

He dropped his eyes back to mine, the uniquely-colored irises scrutinizing me eerily. He was a creature from another world. He hunched his shoulders even more, ducking his head. He looked up through his hair to smile at me, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth and dribbling down his chin.

"Hello," he whispered. The hiss of his voice sent shivers up my spine and then back down it. I could only stare at him. No, he could not be another hallucination, not another creation of the mind that so badly desired to end my life. "Do you want a taste?" he asked, extending the knife to me. He held it between two fingers, just like the one I loved.

I stared at the blade for a long time. I _did_ want a taste, that was the worst part. A taste of him. His blood, his skin, his sweat, his fucking _essence._ Whatever.

I nodded, my desire coming to a simmer beneath my skin. Boiling through my blood and shining in my eyes. He grimaced in a way that I suspected was supposed to be a smile, and I instantly loved it almost as much as I loved L's smirk, however rare. He lifted his other hand (his fingernails were tinged a pale red) and snapped his fingers.

That was when L made his nightly appearance.

He appeared behind the darker man like a beautiful, timid ghost. Standing together, they were Yin and Yang, the same but each other's perfect opposite. L took the double's hand with one of his own, then held out the other, palm-up. The other man- my subconscious wanted me to refer to him as Beyond- violently plunged the knife into his wrist.

I moaned in unison with L. It was so damn beautiful. Two men, equally beautiful, mirror reflections, Good and Evil. Good with his wrist sliced open and Evil with his lips around the wound, sucking, eyes open and staring at me...

L smiled with pleading as he took the knife from 'Beyond,' climbing up onto my bed. He crawled until he was over me, straddling me on his hands and knees. He held his injured wrist to my lips.

"Light-kun," he breathed.

I growled as I took hold of his forearm, running my tongue over the liquid, swallowing. It was disgusting, but it quenched my thirst and really that was all that mattered. That, and the fact that it was L's blood I drank. I turned his arm to get better access and sucked hard, my lips flush with his skin, my mouth filling up until I learned to swallow around my actions. L's eyes shot wide open and he gasped as if in orgasm. He reached out and grabbed my hair roughly, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his head back, groaning my name.

I whispered his in return, encouraging him, his fingers running frantically through my hair. For the moment, I was on top of the world, I had him, he was under my control.

But wasn't I under his control, as well? Wasn't my body also contorting uncontrollably? Wasn't my heart racing for him just as his was for me? We were relying on each other. We needed one another to ease the pressure that had slowly built up inside of us, we needed each other or we'd burst.

L let out another small noise, curling over himself to bury his head in my shoulder, whispering fervent words under his heavy breaths. I loved it, all of it, the warmth of his body, the feel of his skin brushing gently against mine, his scent, the whispers of hot breath against my neck.

I loved him.

So fucking much.

I whispered it to him quietly, the solemn promise of forever. It was twisted and sickeningly beautiful. A bright light fell across our bodies as 'Beyond' slunk silently across the room-his beloved knife still hanging out of the corner of his mouth-and pulled the curtain back. I flinched away from the light, my fingers digging into the white fabric and sensitive skin underneath...

...I opened my eyes, the sunlight barely appearing over the horizon, the gray light bathing the room. Ryuuzaki had his back turned to me, hunched over himself, one arm bent, his thumb obviously to his lip.

But he was there.

In the flesh.

And I loved him.

Damn it!

It's weird how one little revelation can shatter your world into a million and four pieces. I stared steadily at his curled back, his shirt bagging away from his tiny, lithe frame, and I could feel the world beginning to lose its shape. Beginning to crumble. The pieces slowly falling, hitting the ground and smashing into crystal shards.

No, I wasn't supposed to fall.

I wasn't supposed to be Lucifer, the fallen angel. In my mind, smoke curled around me. I coughed a couple of times but it was psychosomatic and coughing wasn't going to do any good.

Ryuuzaki was watching me, his eyes wide and speculating, his face paler than usual, which was saying something.

"What?" I managed to breathe out, my voice barely audible, the 'smoke' still curling into my lungs. I reached out and touched him, my hand making contact with his white shirt. I sighed gently at the familiar texture, pulling him closer to me as the air began to clear.

He tried to pull back, away from me, but the chain on his wrist bit into his skin and made him wince. He was just as chained to me as I was chained to him. The pain ended his fighting.

Also when someone weighs about two pounds, it's not hard to tug them over to you.

"L, do you hate me?" I whispered, hiding my face in his hair. He moved slightly, making himself comfortable against me, apparently having given up trying to escape. Besides, it was comfortable and warm, lying loosely intertwined like this, our breath mingling, the sheets heavy with the scent of sleep and our clean bodies. Even if it _was _kind of gay. He didn't answer me for a long time; he was so silent I was beginning to wonder if he'd fallen asleep.

"I doubt I am capable of feeling such emotions, or rather, I doubt I am capable of feeling anything at all. It's really been a very long time." His voice was quiet, the slight English accent to his Japanese becoming more pronounced and making him slightly harder for me to understand. I looked at him, my heart constricting.

Does love always hurt?

Can an illusion cause pain?

Because that's all love is, of course. An emotion created by human beings to ease the harsh reality they have to cope with and to trick us into breeding. Just like how I'd resorted to L for comfort. I resorted to the man I hated.

But I didn't hate him, I loved him.

But if love was an illusion, then so was hate.

Right?

The two most written-about emotions since the dawn of time. The two most powerful things we can feel, the ones with the most meaning. Total opposites, but completely alike in their intensity.

Like L and Kira.

Or even, I guess, like Ryuuzaki and Light.

I looked at the top of his head. His hair was greasy and messy, but just as soft as the first time I touched it. We were comfortable together, our bodies and minds fit together perfectly in the silence. There were no battles, no percentages. Everything was melted, dripping and running together until it was just a big blur of warmth and beauty.

I wonder if this was what love was truly like.

* * *

"Every time we lie awake  
After every hit we take  
Every feeling that I get  
But I haven't missed you yet.  
Every roommate kept awake  
By every silent scream we make  
All the feelings that I get  
But I still don't miss you yet.  
Only when I stop to think about it...

I hate everything about you  
Why do I love you?"

-I Hate Everything, Three Days Grace


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: We do not own Death Note.**

**A/N: As usual, idea is Dlvvanzor's, written by me!, rewritten by her, and...yeah.**

**Mello POV**

I watched silently through the window, feeling the warm sunrise on my back where I crouched. I inhaled, staring at the two. Light (Kira, definitely) had fallen back into a fitful sleep, mumbling to himself like a madman. I had never had a conversation with the man-boy-and still, I hated his guts with a passion. There was just something about him that made my skin crawl.

I knew I shouldn't stop watching Kira, but I couldn't help a glance: I looked over the balcony at the familiar red Camero, my blonde hair tumbling gently around my face in the warmish breeze. I knew he was in there, either playing video games or sleeping in the driver's seat, waiting for me, as always.

Just like a puppy.

_'I love you,' _I mouthed in his direction before forcing my eyes back to what they were supposed to be doing. I watched L this time, he was staring at Kira with his huge, emotionless eyes. L, who I was striving to be, who I was losing sleep over, one of two people I would cry at the loss of (the other being my redheaded puppy), was being so incredibly stupid. He was so smart, so why couldn't he see right through the mask that Kira put up? He has always had a bad taste in men; this _definitely_ wasn't the first time he had fallen in love with a serial killer.

Just like in the BB case, the killer was directly in front of him, and yet he was allowing himself to turn a blind eye. He was not nearly as objective or as pure as everyone seemed to think he was. He had human emotions just like everyone else, except they might even be _worse_ because he repressed them so much. When they were too strong for him, he was helpless against them.

Because I _knew_ that he knew. I was _sure _he knew. After all, he was L, possibly the smartest man to ever live. If _I _could figure it out, _he _could figure it out. And yet he was so easily influenced by feelings of affection.

_'You fucking idiot,' _I chastised him almost lovingly in my head, pulling out a chocolate bar and resting my teeth lightly against it, deep in thought. My cell phone rang in my pocket, and I reached for it quickly so as not to disturb L.

"Yeah?" I responded, my voice hushed. I slunk to the shaded side of the balcony, always alert for any sign of movement.

"What do you want for breakfast?"

Immediately, I relaxed. It was, of course, Matt, his husky voice implying that sleep still had its claws in him. I peeked over the side of the balcony only to find him staring up at me, leaning against his car, a smirk on his lips.

"I'll be down in a minute. I have a plan that we need to discuss." I looked back in the window, but the two had disappeared. Suddenly, inspiration struck. I smiled to myself, catlike. "Hey, when we're done eating, do you mind stopping at the Yagami house?"

"Sure thing," he replied immediately, and we hung up. I began making blueprints in my head as I climbed down the cold steel wall.

**Light POV**

Someone knows I'm Kira and they're not hiding it. I've been getting weird letters from this person, lately, and it's beginning to creep me out. It is not acceptable for the god of the new world to feel 'creeped out,' so I will find this person.

And then I will kill him. No questions asked.

I will find whoever 'Matt' is and bring him to an end, and I will do it slowly, painfully, and in the most unpleasant way I can come up with. That's what happens when you mess with _God_, right? Right. Instant smoting.

Could 'Matt' be working with L? Maybe it was yet another one of L's tricks- freak me out so much that I confess. If this were true, it would mean that 'Matt' was a fake name for someone else. Possibly someone I already know.

I turn to scan the room. Everyone's faces are a mask of exhaustion and malnourishment, but they all appear innocent. If this person _was_ working under L, it could be Watari. The old man would do whatever L wanted him to. But, if L were truly the one doing this, he'd know I'd figure it out and would make it someone less obvious then Watari.

"Ryuuzaki! I just finished copying the papers you wanted!" Matsuda shrieked, bursting through the door like a tornado, the warm, sweet-smelling breeze flying in with him. My head shot up.

Matt.

Matsuda.

The names were close, which is something L would do so as not to confuse the poor idiot. It's just the type of job L would give the hyperactive puppy of a man, if only to keep him busy and out of our hair.

So, in the end, it _was_ just further proof of L's distrust for me. He was still definitely convinced that I was Kira. If I just acted as though this wasn't bugging me, maybe he'd give up. Maybe he'd believe me.

I've never in my life been so desperate for anyone to believe me.

**Mello's POV**

"By now, he probably suspects that this is a trap L's made for him. That's the way his paranoid brain works. So we need to prove to him we're real. We need to do something that will shake him, that L wouldn't or couldn't do." I kept my voice hushed, leaning over the table so that Matt could hear me as people strode past us to their innumerable destinations. Matt's eyes were on me and only me, the way they always were when we were together, and I relished as usual in the attention.

"So what are you planning to do?" Matt asked quietly, reading my mysterious smirk. I leaned back, biting off a corner of my chocolate bar, my head whirling with ideas now that Matt was on board.

Because, of course, the true objective was not to catch Kira.

As always, it was to beat Near, who had by now also done many tests on Kira to try stressing him out. So I had to go about it a different way. I glanced back up at Matt, still watching me, his head cocked slightly.

"What is usually most important to a human being?"

He knew I was drawing this out for the attention, but he loved me so he didn't mind. "Other people."

"Right. And their family especially."

Matt nodded. I smirked, letting out a dark chuckle. Matt's lips curved down a bit, but he gave no other sign that he didn't like my plan. Or, the plan that I was about to tell him. But he'd pick me over his soul any day. "So we're going to kill his family." He let out his breath in a sigh. His own family had been murdered right in front of him. Naturally, he was always a little bit sensitive when my plans came to murdering families. The fact that he was more than willing to do it anyway was just more proof that he was as obsessed with me as I was with him.

"Well, I do love bloodshed, so I really think I would enjoy that. But no, we're not going to kill Kira's family. At least not his _whole _family."

He nodded, trying not to show how relieved he was that not the _whole_ family would die. He knew I noticed, though, so he let go of a good-natured laugh.

"No, not murder, kidnapping. However, it would be impractical to try to kidnap three people. We should only take one. Who is a male usually most protective of in his family?" I asked. I looked up at him through my bangs. He knew the answer.

I watched his brain sort through the files created in our psychology class years ago. He really _was _brilliant, when he actually tried. He had a photographic memory. "A younger sibling, female," he produced. As he said it, he turned his attention to the Yagami family portrait I had thrown on the table between us. The kind that neither of us would ever have of our own families.

"Exactly. So we don't need these two, they'll die," I said, tracing an 'X' over Mr. and Mrs. Yahami's faces with my finger. "We want _her_," I whispered, my voice falling into a maliciously sexy purr as I circled Sayu's bright, smiling face, "so that, slowly, Light Yagami will break."

**Light's POV**

I had an overpowering sense of doom as I stood on the step in front of the door to my house. It was silent inside, nothing stirred except for the wind in the bushes, creating an eerie effect in the early morning sunlight. Something inside me wanted to turn away and run as fast as possible from this door, but I had promised my mother that I would have breakfast here, and, just to maintain the "good little boy" image, I had to do it.

Of course, L, being the paranoid, anthrophobic freak he is, agreed to unlock me as long as I stayed under heavy surveillance. _Very _heavy surveillance. Which I had hurriedly agreed to, checking my watch, and hoping my mother wouldn't be too pissed with me. After all, I was a good little gay boy who loved Mommy, right?

So I pushed open the door and stepped into the little entrance. "Hello?" I called cautiously, inhaling slowly.

I nearly passed out.

Blood.

Not visible, but there. It was a very familiar scent in my life, and I knew it when I smelt it. It went straight to my throat, tying it tightly closed. I tried to inhale again, knowing that this was in my head like everything else. I _knew_ I was breathing fine, but… well, insanity can kill you.

**Mello's POV**

I lurked just outside of the doorway as Kira entered, my head tilted to listen, gun in my hand. The other was clamped over Sayu's mouth. She clawed ferociously at my hand, succeeding at ripping the tough fabric and skin with her fingernails. That stung. Little bitch.

"Shut the fuck up!" I hissed, listening as her brother began to… choke? It sounded like he was an old man breathing in the smoke of a thousand cigarettes. Cautiously, because Kira was smart and it could be a trick, I popped my head around the archway in the mud room, watching as he fought with the brass doorknob in a vain attempt to shove the door open.

He was clawing his throat to shreds. He seriously must have had some terrible neurological disorder, because he was literally making himself bleed. Blood stained the white collar of his shirt and his barely existant fingernails were catching on the buttons and tearing as he gagged, finally stumbling out into the morning's crisp air. _That's _quite a blood phobia for a mass murderer. I looked across the hall at where Matt crouched, ready to attack, completely silent.

He smiled at me and my heart did some really damn annoying flutter thing, so I shook my head to clear it. Gotta follow the plan. I uncovered the little girl's mouth.

"You… you horrible people! You sickos! How could you-" Damn she had an annoying voice. I covered her mouth again, my upper lip crinkling at the high-pitched shriek. Matt sighed in relief almost simultaneously.

"_Thank_ you," he mouthed at me. I grimaced down at the dark-haired girl who was now fighting against my hold around her stomach and mouth.

"Find something to keep her trap shut," I told Matt. "I'm going to need more than one hand to drag her out of here. How much do you weigh? Like, four-ninety?" Her eyebrows furrowed at my comment (Girls. See, this is why I'm gay. This kind of stuff, right here. Not that gay men tend to be any manlier about things like this), angry tears springing to her eyes.

My trademark crazy smirk escaped as I uncovered her mouth, hoisting her unceremoniously over my shoulder, and lugging her out the back door.

"At least _I'm_ not faceless," I heard her mutter, before Matt hurriedly duct-taped her mouth shut.

**Light's POV**

"That is highly unlikely, Light-kun," L said in his eerily calm way. I shook my head frantically, meeting my father's worriedly crinkled eyes. He glanced at L, then back at me, trying to make sense of the situation in front of him.

"No, seriously, I didn't _see _blood, but it _smelled _like it. Plus, it was so, so quiet!" I argued. Our old married couple side was starting to show again. Unfortunately, the more he calmly argued, the more sense it made. They weren't dead. They _couldn't_ be. They had probably just gone someplace, and, as L so lovingly (and by lovingly I mean damn _bluntly)_ put it, Misa's death was probably beginning to have a much-expected impact on my mind.

Not to mention the fact that I was Kira or that I also strongly suspected that I was insane. Sometimes it's just better to not say these things.

"Exactly, Light-kun. You should not worry without further evidence, although I assure you we will look into this." He tilted his head slightly, the blue computer light illuminating his face and sending shadows across his body.

At that moment he looked… sexy. For lack of a more intelligent word. I licked my lips predatorily, taking a step forward.

Impede! Arrest! Cease and desist! Discontinue! Terminate actions!

I stopped myself by an extreme exertion of will. No way, not happening. Even if I could do it without getting beaten to a bloody, shivering pulp, I was under no circumstances going to allow myself to shift _that _way. Okay, fine, I loved him. But that was _entirely _different than letting myself waltz up to him and lay one on him. Not to mention that I was still pissed at him for being L. He was the Lucifer in this regime. The most beloved that screws it all up.

"Freaking Lucifer," I muttered under my breath. I flopped backwards into my swivel chair, my weight causing it to roll away without warning, causing L (who had found it necessary to replace the handcuffs) to be pulled along…

…right into my lap.

Naturally. That's how it always works in yaoi, right?

L, of course, was not fazed by this; he simply pulled his knees up, keeping his butt planted on my lap for obvious safety reasons, as we continued gaining speed, headed right for the metal wall of the hallway.

My life flashed before my eyes as we passed Matsuda and my father, packing their stuff to leave. They glanced up unconcernedly, too exhausted and _way _too used to this kind of madness to care, as they headed for the door, discussing plans for nightly coffee before crashing at Mogi's, which they had been doing a lot lately.

At this rate, even if Mom and Sayu _were _dead, no one would find them. This was a really long swivel chair ride. I sighed. This is what being a gay, overdramatic, pouty, teenage God did to you. I squeezed my eyes shut and hunched my shoulders as we crashed unceremoniously into the wall.

Immediately, my eyes opened wide. I was alive! Which, you know, shouldn't have been a surprise, since it was just a chair crash. The chair had dumped me out and was now on its side next to me. I breathed a sigh of relief before flopping down onto what _should _have been the floor.

Except it wasn't, because last time I checked floors didn't mind when you landed on them. It was their job to be landed on, really, so it would be silly if they protested. That, and they definitely didn't breathe. _And_ usually they smelled like feet, not like strawberry-laced exhaustion.

Immediately, I propped myself up onto my hands and knees, staring down at L's eyes.

Something came over me, then, and I suddenly knew that I wouldn't resist my almost-perpetual urge. I felt desire heating up into the pit of my stomach. Slowly, slowly, I leaned into kiss him. The shock and madness of the day forgotten, pushed into the dark recesses of my mind.

And the scary part was, he didn't fight me.

"Baby, can't you see

I'm calling.

A guy like you should wear a warning.

It's dangerous.

I'm falling.

There's no escape.

I can't wait.

I need a hit.

Baby, give me it.

You're dangerous.

I'm loving it.

Too high.

Can't come down.

Losin' my head.

Spinnin' 'round and 'round.

Do you feel me now?

With the taste of your lips I'm on a ride.

You're toxic I'm slippin' under.

With the taste of the poison paradise.

I'm addicted to you, don't you know that you're toxic?

And I love what you do, don't you know that you're toxic?

It's gettin' late

To give you up.

I took a sip

From my devil's cup.

Slowly, it's taking over me."

-Britney Spears


	6. Chapter 6

I couldn't get away from him, but it wasn't like I wanted to or like I _would_ even if I could. I was kissing L. _The_ L. And he was kissing me back, and something about that scattered my thoughts to the point where even _I_ didn't recognize them.

I also failed to try to get away from him when he pressed into me harder, parting my lips with his and forcing his tongue into my mouth in what could be fairly accurately described as a rape-kiss, except that it was far from unwanted.

Suddenly, we both realized what we were doing and jerked back, silent, and for a long, long moment, we only stared at each other.

His eyes reflected me in the truest of ways. We were both breathless, his face flushed from the overload of human contact. He stared at me. I wondered if he was staring at the reflection of himself in _my _eyes.

"Red," he murmured, reaching up and touching my protruding cheekbone, running his thumb along it, right underneath my eye. I blinked confusedly, tingling at his touch.

"Excuse me?" I mumbled, trying to match his level of quiet.

"Your eyes are red, Light-Kun. They are the red of fresh blood."

Well, that was a bit morbid, wasn't it? I grimaced at him, before pushing myself off of him and standing up, brushing away the imaginary dust bunnies. Truth be told, I just realized how awkward this situation was; I'd been on the floor, nearly _raping _L.

Lucifer.

Come the hell on! Why would God find Lucifer even the least bit attractive?

I turned around to look at him, trying to convince myself that he was, in fact, notattractive. At all. But, damn, right then, it was hard _not_ to think such a thing. He was lying on his back on the hallway floor, one of his hands tangled gently in his hair, the other in its usual position by his mouth. His shirt was riding up slightly, showing just enough pale, thin torso to leave a thing or two for me to imagine. The moonlight streamed through the window, shining along his face, turning it silver and making the shadows sharper, more noticeable along his sharp jaw and strong cheekbones.

Damn.

I wanted him.

"Come along, Light-Kun," L said in his quiet, sweet baritone, getting up and pulling impatiently on the chain connecting us. "I think we both need some sleep. And some time to think things through." I didn't know what _he _needed to think about, but _I_ had everything pretty much figured out on my end. There was nothing else to wonder about.

I loved him.

Hands down, up front.

But as we walked past the window, I saw someone- a tallish, young man, maybe just a few years younger than L- standing by the mailbox, staring in the window at us with wide, emerald eyes. He had messy red hair and a slender build hidden behind a long, striped shirt. He waved pleasantly and smiled, and for a moment, I was reminded of a greeting-card puppy.

Still, that was pretty fucking creepy.

And as we passed the hallway, I was sure I saw yet _another _person, this one blonde, and slightly shorter than the redhead out front. Female. All I saw was a flash, of course, but what really stood out to me was their eyes, even from far away.Lightning blue and piercing, and so full of anger and hate that it _almost _hurt my heart. I felt a definite pang at least.

I had to be careful. I couldn't go around developing a conscience.

**Matt's POV**

Fuck.

I bet I looked stupid. Waving like a fucking retard in the window of a house _I _wasn't even supposed to be at. Mello was so going to be mad at me for like, forty thousand years, and probably not talk to me, or even worse _deprive _me. Of _everything _important. Including video games. Fuck.

I wasn't really concerned about that at that particular moment, though. Right then, I was more concerned with his _safety. _I mean, he was alone, in the house with L and Kira. What if Kira like, guessed his name or something, wrote it down in the Death Note- I'm not exactly sure _where _Mels got the Death Note idea from- and then killed him? The thought alone brought tears to my eyes at night, watching him sleep, a peaceful, catlike smirk on his mouth, around the thumb that he still sucked at night. (He didn't know that he sucked his thumb and since I valued my penis still being attached to my body, I did _not_ intend to tell him.)

I couldn't imagine a world without him.

Fuck that, I couldn't even imagine _me _without him.

God, I hoped he was okay.

**Mello's POV**

"He's asleep, Mello. Please, come here." L's voice was low, quiet, and almost angry. Instinctively, I shrank back into the shadows, attempting to hide myself even more. Then I realized how stupid that was, since this was _L, _and I stepped out.

He looked up, his eyes locked on mine, and a moment of brief, awkward silence followed.

"He's Kira." I finally blurted, and I felt distinctly like I was ten again, cringing under his gaze.

"Yes, Near and I have already discovered this fact. Thank you." The sarcasm in his voice was heavy, and the mention of Near brought hateful tears to my eyes. I gritted my teeth so hard they made a grinding nose in my mouth, my fists clenched so tightly that my knuckles and wrists popped on their own accord.

"Why are you creeping around? Though I must say, the orphanage really brought out your skills. You have always been good at these things, and, had I not seen Matt, I would still be unaware of your presence."

Damn dog.

Whatever- and I could take some serious consolation in this- at least _my _lover wasn't _Kira_. I rolled my eyes, stuck out a hip (shit I'm gay sometimes), and crossed my arms over my chest. A small smile graced L's lips, as he returned his eyes to his laptop screen.

"I don't want you to die," I said bluntly. "If Kira makes even the slightest move with that stupid black notebook he carries in his bag, hidden in the desk drawer downstairs directly to your left, I'll kill him. With my hands if I have to." There. I figured that was about as clear as it could get.

L turned his unnerving eyes upward.

"Have you and Near also been working together on this case?"

Ew, no. Why the fuck would he ever assume that? "No. What the Hell? Why would you even wish such a horrible thing on me? I remember the stories Roger used to tell us about death gods and how if they dropped their notebooks, humans could have the unlimited power to kill anyone they wished and stuff," I added sarcastically.

L smiled slightly. "Your English has improved. Your German accent is less pronounced."

I scowled. L had the oddest ways of praising a person.

"Auf Wiedersehen, und viel Glück." I murmured, climbing out through the window and disappearing into the night.

**Light POV**

Mello- who, as it turned out, was _not_ female- had to die. I didn't know who he was, nor did I care. He was going to die. His whole family, too, and whatever else he happened to own. His freaking _cat _could be my enemy and waiting to kill me.

Plus, he knew I had a Death Note, and he knew where I hid it.

Had he tested it? Did he know the torture I went through every midnight for twenty-seven minutes?

I sure as hell hoped so.

After all. He deserved it.

Almost as much as I did.

I turned over, still pretending to sleep, my mind reeling, blood beginning to drizzle from the ceiling and into my mouth, the familiar, orgasmic taste quickly quenching my nearly-insatiable thirst. Oh, it must be midnight. But it was okay; tonight I could ignore it, because I was already planning how to catch- and kill in the most brutal way possible- Mello.

I'd have to corner him, somewhere discreet and abandoned. I'd take L with me, saying I just wanted to visit this place for the cultural beauty or something. He'd probably know something was up, but L was always a quiet person. Then, I'd say I killed Mello in self-defense.

Which means I'd have to piss him off severely, first. Which really didn't seem like it should be too hard, judging by how he reacted to this 'Near' person.

Tomorrow, I'd start putting my plan to action.

**You're a faith-healer on T.V.  
You're an office park without any trees  
Corporate and cold  
Gushing for gold  
Leave me alone.  
You suck so passionately  
You're a parasitic, psycho, filthy creature  
finger-bangin' my heart  
You call me up drunk  
Does the fun ever start?  
You're hideous and sexy**!

**Love Me Dead-Ludo**

**Note: "Auf Wiedersehen, und viel Glück" Means "Good Bye and good luck" in German XD Sorry.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Mello's POV**

I whimpered quietly, my hands clenched over my ears, eyes screwed shut. I rocked gently, back and forth, forth and back, a soothing repetition that almost blocked out the smell. I could feel it, almost as if I were showering in it, hot and sticky, dripping from the ends of my hair, pooling in the hollow of my neck, and down.

_Fuck_.

Why was this happening? I choked back another whimper, gritting my teeth. I didn't want to wake Matt-the addictive gamer slept so rarely. Tears fell from my eyes, hot as the invisible rivers that flowed illogically over the rest of me. I cursed in my head, a million words that would make my Catholic mother turn over in her grave and a crusty sailor blush in shame. I gritted my teeth harder, fighting back a wave of unbearable nausea.

Damn black notebook.

That was it. I knew it. It was the only logical thing that _could _have caused this. Well, it was either that or some seriously fucked-up psychological reaction to being in the same room as Kira, and that was unlikely. After all, I've killed men, women, and children without even the slightest bit of remorse, so why the hell would it start now?

I squinted at the clock, calculating in my head exactly how many minutes had gone by. Maybe... twenty-five? No, twenty-six. Twenty-six minutes... how the hell long was I gonna have to deal with this? Would this just go on indefinitely? If so, it was getting harder and harder to blame Kira for _anything..._ if killing made this stop, then I could see where he was coming from.

And then, just like that, it was over with another loud-too loud like the sound of a heart's last beat. A tick of the clock and it was over. I swallowed another sob, biting down hard on my lip, concealing the emotions that threatened to overflow.

Then I heard it. A laugh that reminded me of Matt's smoker's voice on a bad day, only a thousand times worse. An involuntary shudder slipped down my spine as a flash of lightning illuminated the room in a harsh blue, and in the momentary light, I saw...

...A monster.

I let out a cry and grabbed my gun- fumbling with it for the first time in _years_- and shot it as many times as I could. Matt shot up next to me, emerald eyes wide, arms already going for me because it wasn't exactly the first time I had done something like this.

I looked at him for a moment, wild-eyed, I'm sure, because he sucked in a quick breath. When I looked back where the monster had been, there were only holes in the wall. Our poor neighbors.

I dropped the gun to the floor with a noisy clatter. It was only then that I noticed I was sobbing, uncontrollably, and I looked at Matt again. I didn't even realize I was begging for help until his arms (which were already there, they were _always _there to catch me) tightened. I held onto him like he was the only thing that was afloat in miles of ocean, one fist to his bare chest, over his heart. It was still beating, and sometimes I thought that was the only thing that mattered.

"Shhh," he murmured, rocking me gently. "Just a nightmare. You just overreacted because you're a crazy fuck. Nothing there to shoot, don't worry. I _told_ you all this Kira BS was stressing you out." His words were harsh-sounding as usual but it was _him_, it was very much Matt, and that made them feel like a feathery pillow.

I felt my eyes begin to grow heavy. "Don't let me go, okay?" I mumbled, barely comprehensible.

"Never will."

**Light's POV**

L was sleeping. And it wasn't just the partial "zone out and stare at the wall until your mind is completely blank" version of L-sleep. He was actually fully asleep, murmuring to himself about strawberries, cake, and Kira.

Me.

Pride radiated through me. I sighed contentedly, knowing it was going to be a good day.

At least, it _should_ be a good day. So far, everything was great. Mello (the transgender) had probably suffered, and that freaking creeper of his boyfriend with him, and I had recently discovered that I preoccupied L to the point of dreaming of me. So yeah, a pretty good start to the day.

Wait. Hadn't he been sleeping a lot lately? Or, at least, sleeping way more than L ever had previously. Every night that I'd been next to him, he'd slept like a baby, but _before_ I remember that whenever I'd come downstairs to get a drink he'd always be there, at the computer or crouched in that hideous striped chair, watching, waiting for something to happen. And his reputation... what had Matsuda once said about seeing L sleep sitting in his chair, crouched as usual...

I looked at the clock. Seven-thirty in the morning. This was definitely the latest he'd ever slept in my presence. Maybe insomnia wears off at a certain age? Maybe he'd had some kind of revelation that sleep had something to do with catching Kira?

I had a feeling neither of those were the case.

If I knew anything, I knew psychology, and this was a class case of _comfort_. He didn't have anything else he could turn to. It was easy to forget that L was once a child, was once an innocent creature that wanted nothing more than the love of his mother... the love of _anyone_ for that matter.

He'd probably looked even _more _like a panda back then.

I stifled a laugh but not well enough, and the small sound seemed to bring him out of the dark waters of sleep. He blinked fuzzily at me, a small smile adorning his flushed face. His cheek was indented with the lines of where the sheets had pressed into him, and his hair stood up straight on the side, declaring that the laws of gravity were, in fact, just a suggestion.

If I was some crazed fangirl, I would have squealed.

I couldn't resist completely, however; I leaned down and pecked his jutting cheekbone. He didn't reel away as he usually did. Instead, he turned to stone as if he'd been threatened... in a way he _had_ been. He'd been threatened in the worst of ways, kissed by a demon. Brief images of the Judas kiss came to my mind, only to be dismissed; no, not by some kind of demon, but by God himself.

Really, L should count himself lucky that his cheek hadn't burst into flames. I had spared him because he was adorable.

"Light-kun." L said, his voice quiet, barely above a whisper, and dry with sleep. My lips quirked upwards. Even gods have a weak spot for cute things. That's why puppies exist.

"I was thinking... maybe we should go to one of those old Catholic churches..."

**Matt's POV**

I stayed up all night holding him. He had fallen asleep pretty quickly, exhausted by the sudden adrenaline rush leaving him. There wasn't much I could say, but I kept saying stuff, _anything_ that I thought would comfort him, kissing the top of his soft head. I was wiped out, but I refused to sleep. Abandoning Mello in any form is unacceptable.

What the hell had _happened_? I stared at my fingers where they intertwined in his hair. He was still sleeping, but fitfully. Every once in a while he'd twitch, lash an arm out, and slam a fist into my chest. He was a strong little guy and _that_ _fucking hurt _but it was Mello, always Mello, so instead I just held him closer.

There were only two other times I'd seen him this fucked up. The first time was, obviously, when his parents had died. He hadn't had me then, although I had seen him from afar; just a blanket and an empty corner to cry in. The second time was when he'd first killed someone. I'd come home to find him trying to chop both his hands off with a butcher knife. How he'd planned to get the second one off was beyond me although I'm sure he would have found a way. Probably with his teeth. Ugh.

Talk about the nick of time. Seriously.

I reached around his wrist, running my thumb across the scar that marked it. He started awake, blinking blearily, staring at me as if I were the only thing in the world. My heart sped up, and his hand that rested on it pressed into my skin to feel it more.

I glanced at the clock. The green numbers blinked four thirty-seven in a strict, boring tone. I felt him shifting in my arms, and when I looked back at him he had stretched upward. I thought about saying something but suddenly his lips were there, pressing against mine.

"Love me," he demanded, breath hot against my lips. His voice was so desperate, and his hands burned my skin where they rested on me. I put my hands on his thin waist, helping him upright a bit more. I looked him dead in the eye and told him the truth.

"Always have." _Promise._

And our lips met again.


End file.
